the Cage d'Alcacer, casting curious glances in their direction,
saw Lingard shake his head and thought with slight uneasiness: "He is
refusing her something."

"Mr. d'Alcacer's name for you is the 'Man of Fate'," said Mrs. Travers,
a little breathlessly.

"A mouthful. Never mind, he is a gentleman. It's what you. . . ."

"I call you all but by your Christian name," said Mrs. Travers, hastily.
"Believe me, Mr. d'Alcacer understands you."

"He is all right," interjected Lingard.

"And he is innocent. I remember what you have said--that the innocent
must take their chance. Well, then, do what is right."

"You think it would be right? You believe it? You feel it?"

"At this time, in this place, from a man like you--Yes, it is right."

Lingard thought that woman wonderfully true to him and wonderfully
fearless with herself. The necessity to take back the two captives to
the stockade was so clear and unavoidable now, that he believed nothing
on earth could have stopped him from doing so, but where was there
another woman in the world who would have taken it like this? And he
reflected that in truth and courage there is found wisdom. It seemed to
him that till Mrs. Travers came to stand by his side he had never known
what truth and courage and wisdom were. With his eyes on her face and
having been told that in her eyes he appeared worthy of being both
commanded and entreated, he felt an instant of complete content, a
moment of, as it were, perfect emotional repose.

During the silence Mrs. Travers with a quick side-glance noticed
d'Alcacer as one sees a man in a mist, his mere dark shape arrested
close to the muslin screen. She had no doubt that he was looking in
their direction and that he could see them much more plainly than she
could see him. Mrs. Travers thought suddenly how anxious he must be; and
she remembered that he had begged her for some sign, for some warning,
beforehand, at the moment of crisis. She had understood very well his
hinted request for time to get prepared. If he was to get more than a
few minutes, _this_ was the moment to make him a sign--the sign he had
suggested himself. Mrs. Travers moved back the least bit so as to let
the light fall in front of her and with a slow, distinct movement she
put her left hand to her forehead.

"Well, then," she heard Lingard's forcible murmur, "well, then, Mrs.
Travers, it must be done to-night."

One may be true, fearless, and wise, and yet catch one's br